Page 23 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

Gurlien steps in, glowering at her. “And how long does it last?”

Something prickly at the line of questioning, something halfway between pride and shame, stops her words, causing her to scowl at the closet before she pulls out a pair of slacks.

He leans against the doorway, crossing his arms at her, the fake bored expression filtering over his face once more.

And she needs to keep him on her side.

Especially after he was able to break the grip with Johnsin.

“It varies,” she responds, finally, sitting on the bed and attempting to finger comb her hair. “Sometimes days, sometimes far less.”

He nods, neutral.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with him, it’s a passivewearing off, not an active decision,” she supplies, and his brow furrows. “So we don’t have to wait for someone to decide to take it off, we don’t need to find someone else to relieve it, it just…is.”

“Okay,” he says, simple, and the hair on the back of her neck raises.

“You’re planning something,” she says, and he nods. “Tell me what you’re planning.”

“No,” he says casually.

She raises an eyebrow at him, and he blanches for a split second before the bored mask falls again.

“Not until I have more information,” he says instead. “Talking about it preemptively could weigh the results in one direction.”

That’s fair, but she still scowls at him.

“Get up, we are meeting some people.” Gurlien says, almost curt.

“No,” Ambra blurts out.

“Yes,” Gurlien responds. “They’re not going to hurt you, they’re not going to tell the College, and best of all, they’re going to have information for you.”

She frowns at him.

“They’re going to have information on Nalissa,” he says, crossing his arms. He doesn’t think she can tell, but he’s bluffing. “And they’re not going to give that over the phone.”

That part, at least, seems true.

“Where is the meeting spot?” she asks, skeptical, but she swings her legs out to stand and wobbles.

They’re sore, like the body had completed some sort of athletic feat, and she scrunches up her face all the same.

“Can you teleport by coordinates or do you need to visit first?” Gurlien asks, which is an interesting question, one most don’t think about.

“Coordinates are difficult, but I’m fairly decent at them,” Ambra says, cautiously.

“I’ve heard that’s impressive,” Gurlien says, just as cautious. “46.6652N by 122.9698W.”

“That’s deep inside another demon’s territory,” Ambra warns him. “I will run the moment I think I need to.”

“And where we’re going, I want you to let me do the talking,” he continues, which is at least interesting. “We’re getting there first, and if they feel threatened, they will leave maybe without even speaking to you.”

“Interesting,” Ambra replies cautiously, giving up on the finger combing and brushing past him to grab the brush in the bathroom, before startling at her appearance.

The hair on the shaved side of her head is starting to grow back, just barely prickling out of her scalp, like someone smeared a reddish-brown dust over one side of her skin.

She leans in close, rubbing her hand over it, and the texture is wholly unpleasant.

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